Analyzing Kyle
by Ben Barrett
Summary: Kyle must come to terms with his relationship with Stan. StanxKyle. Mild slash.
1. Welcome To South Park

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park (as if you didn't know that).

**Analyzing Kyle**

By Ben Barrett

**Chapter One – Welcome to South Park**

We'll begin this story high over the town of South Park. The sun is just rising over the treetops and the birds that aren't soaring through the air are beginning to chirp merrily in the treetops. We can even begin to see the town coming to life from this angle as cars-- as well as a few joggers-- begin to occupy the deserted streets. Everything seems to be as it should be from this angle, doesn't it?

As we move downward and closer to the town, we can begin to make out more details. The details of the streets become clearer and we can see a few people in their pajamas coming out to fetch their newspapers, coffee cups in hand. We'll ignore these people as we head through the suburbs, for we have more important things to see this morning.

We make our way down a tree-lined street toward a big green house with a rather nice car in the driveway. Welcome to the Brovlofski residence, home of Sheila, Gerald, Ike, and the person we've come to see: Kyle. We move through his front door and disregard Ike entirely, who sees us (though no one else can) and greets us with a "Ba ba ba". We go up the stairs, in a desperate hurry for we have very little time.

"Mom!" we hear someone call as we get mid-way upstairs. "Where's my ushanka?"

"I don't know, bubee," a female voice on the lower level of the house replies, "but you'd better hurry or you're gonna miss your bus."

We continue our journey up the stairs and turn left when we reach the second floor. We head down the hall toward the door at the end, which is slightly ajar, and push it open when we reach it. There we see the person we've been searching for. He's a rather handsome boy with a large, red afro and a rounded face. The clothes he wears on this most hectic of mornings is no different than they are on any other day: an orange vest, dark green pants, and light green mittens.

We stand quietly behind him as he digs furiously through his closet, then move aside as he gives up and runs across the room to dig in his dresser drawers for what looks like the thousandth time. Underwear, pants, and shirts go flying everywhere as he searches in vain for his beloved green ushanka. He gives up on the dresser and gets down on his hands and knees to look under his bed. He doesn't realize how ridiculous he looks on the floor, his head at ground level and his ass sticking up in the air.

"Bubee, COME ON!" the woman downstairs screams again.

"Kyle!" a male voice shouts. "If I have to drive your ass to school again…"

"Okay, okay! I'm coming!" he bellows back, before making his way out of the room.

We are hot on his heels as he makes his way down the hallway, grumbling and cursing under his breath. Heading down the stairs again, we can see the sources of the two angry voices: Sheila and Gerald, Kyle's parents. They are standing by the front door, looking very upset at their son. He breezes past them (as do we) and heads down the front walk.

"Honestly, Kyle, I don't know why you have to hide your hair under that hat all the time," Sheila tells him. "I think it's very handsome."

Kyle stops and takes a deep breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides. It's obvious that he doesn't agree and doesn't like to be told otherwise. After a minute, he shakes his head and continues down the walk. We follow him as he moves down the street at a brisk pace. He is most likely headed toward the bus stop, where his friends will no doubt be awaiting his arrival.

He stops suddenly and looks behind him, as if he senses us. He stares straight at us for a second, then shakes his head and continues on his way.

We arrive at the bus stop with him a few minutes later and see a small group of other kids there. One is dressed in a large orange parka which conceals his face. He mumbles something, which causes the others to laugh. Kyle, however, is not amused in the least and actually looks furious.

"Shut up, Kenny!" he shouts at him.

Kenny mumbles something else, which causes the boy to his left, a morbidly obese child in a red jacket, to cackle madly.

"Yeah, seriously," the fat kid says.

"Up yours, Cartman, you fucking chunk of ass fat!" Kyle barks at him.

"Take it easy, Kyle," another boy says.

We look over at this third boy (as does Kyle) and notice a few things about him right away. The first is his attire, which is a brown vest, red mittens, and a red and blue poof ball hat. The second is that he is obviously the leader of the group, just by the aura he projects. The third and most important thing is that he is Kyle's very best friend. We can tell just by the way they look at each other, and by the warmth in this third boy's eyes, which is in such violent contrast to the malice that was in the eyes of the fat kid, Cartman.

"They were just playing," he says.

"Well," Kyle replies, "I don't like people talking about my hair, Stan."

"Jews are such over-sensitive pussies," Cartman states, a look of pure evil on his face. One thing is for sure: this boy is not playing; he really loves to hurt Kyle in every way possible.

"Shut up, Cartman, _god damn it_," Stan says, exasperated.

Before anything else can happen, we hear an engine and then the squeak of old brakes behind us. We turn to see a big, yellow school bus sitting there, The door flies open and we are greeted by a horrible woman with a bird on her head and green teeth in her mouth.

"GET _ON_ AND SHUT UP! WE'RE RUNNIN'…" she manages to scream before getting a look at Kyle. "GOOD _GOD_ WHAT THE _HELL_ IS THAT _THING_ ON YOUR _HEAD_?!"

The boys roll their eyes and begin to board the bus. Kenny is first, followed by Cartman. Stan gives his best friend a reassuring pat on the back, and then boards himself. Kyle lingers for a moment, staring after him. There is a look there for only a fleeting second that goes beyond gratitude, and then it is gone. Kyle believes his secret is safe, but we know better. We saw that look and we know exactly what it means: Kyle is deeply, madly, and passionately in love with Stan.

"GET ON THE BUS OR GET LEFT BEHIND!" the bus driver screeches.

"Coming Miss Crabtree," he says.

Then he boards the bus and is gone from our sight.


	2. A Starting Point

**Chapter Two – A Starting Point**

We rise back into the air and view the ground as it falls farther and farther away from us. Soon the bus stop is no bigger than a quarter and our ascent comes to an abrupt stop. We pan our attention back to what's in front of us. We can see the whole town once again, and it has become much livelier since the last time we saw it. Cars now zoom up and down the main street, pedestrians are numerous, and we can see the school bus zigzagging madly around.

We dive toward it like eagles, dodging power lines and tree limbs that get in our way during our rapid descent. We catch the bus with ease and follow behind it the best we can, for Miss Crabtree is a terrible and unpredictable driver with a terrible reputation of slamming on the brakes and sending students flying across the bus.

Arriving at the school, we quickly make our way around to the front of the vehicle so we can watch the children coming out. A short kid with a tuft of blonde hair and a light blue shirt jumps off first, declaring to everyone that it sure was a great ride to school this morning, boy howdy. Everyone else either ignores him or glares at him as they walk by. As Cartman joins him (after having a bit of trouble on the stairs), he gives him a calculating look.

"Butters," he says, "why do you do that every morning?"

"W-well, golly, Eric," Butters replies, "I-I just get a kick out of those bus rides."

"You _do _realize that everyone thinks you're a fag, right?" the fat kid says in what we can only hope is not really an amused voice.

"Th-they do?" the blonde cries.

"Oh, yes," Cartman replies with an evil grin, "and they don't like it, Butters. I'd be afraid if I were you." He puts his arm around Butters at this point and looks at him with unconvincing sympathy. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but most of the people in this school are planning to kill you….even the teachers, Butters."

Butters suddenly looks very nervous. He bites his lower lip and begins fidgeting very badly. He hops from one foot to the other, then runs off in a random direction, screaming.

"Oh, HAMBURGERS!" we hear him wail as he passes from our sight.

"You're such an asshole," Kyle says with a glare as he gets off.

"Oh, come on, Kyle," comes the agitated reply, "it was funny!"

"Not really," our young friend says before walking off. We follow behind him and soon we see Stan catch up and walk side-by-side with him.

"Oh, yeah?" Cartman screams from somewhere behind us. "Well….well you're a Jew!"

We walk with the two through the front doors of the school and down the long main hallway of the building. We must wait as they stop off at their lockers to pick up and drop off books. It is while we wait here that we notice a strange look of jealousy on Kyle's face. He is staring at Stan, who is staring at someone behind us. When we turn to look, we see a girl with long, jet-black hair. It doesn't take us long to figure out that this must be the object of Stan's affections and, judging from what we learned about Kyle earlier, this is a sore spot for the young Jewish boy.

"Dude," he says, "Why do you dwell on that?"

"On what?" Stan asks defensively, turning his attention back to his friend, who has made sure that his look of jealousy is no more.

"You know what!" Kyle retorts. "Wendy Testaburger!"

"Oh her."

Kyle just shrugs his shoulders when he realizes that's the only thing Stan is going to say. They begin walking down the hallway, so we join them. Soon we enter a classroom and see immediately that Cartman and Kenny have managed to beat us here while we were lingering at the lockers. They turn to look at us as we join everyone else in the room.

"Well, well, well," Cartman says, sneering, "if it isn't Stan and his Jew friend Ronald McDonald."

"Just ignore him, dude," Stan whispers to Kyle as they take their seats.

Looking around, we see that this is every bit the typical classroom. There is an alphabet chart above the chalkboard, desks designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, and….a man in a dress. Doing a double-take, we realize that we were not mistaken. The teacher looks like any other over forty, balding, elementary school teacher except that he has breasts and wears a hideous green dress.

We turn quickly away from this stomach-turning sight to get a good look at the rest of the class. The four boys are here, as well as Wendy and Butters (who is looking exceptionally nervous). There looks to be about fifteen other kids there, including one with an oversized head in an electric wheelchair, one with mangled legs, and a lone black boy sitting in the very back.

"Children, children, pay attention," we hear the man in the dress say. We turn and give him our full attention, trying not to think too much about his breasts. "We have a lot to do today and not a lot of time to do it in. So now…yes, Eric, what is it?"

"Mrs. Garrison," we hear Cartman say, "Kyle is disrupting me."

"God damn it, Cartman!" he says as we move toward the side of the room to take everything in. "I'm not doing anything!"

"His hair is really big, and…um….it looks stupid," the fat kid replies. "I can't concentrate with that kind of hair around me."

"My hair doesn't distract anybody else! You're just being a dick!"

"It distracts me," a boy in the front row with brown hair says quietly.

"Stay out of this Clyde!" Stan cries, coming to the defense of his friend..

"I don't have to, assrammer!"

Before long the whole class is in an uproar, shouting and yelling insults at each other. Mrs. Garrison walks calmly to her desk, opens the center drawer, and removes a metal ice scraper. She walks to the chalk board and rakes it across the surface, silencing everyone instantly.

"Now I will _not _have any more disruptions like that in my classroom!" she barks at them. "You will shut the hell up and at least pretend to learn. Do you understand me?"

"But _Mrs. Garrison_," Cartman whines, "_Kaaahl's haaaair…."_

"Oh, all right, Eric, if it'll shut you up."

She walks to the desk and replaces the ice scraper.

"Everyone who feels Kyle's stupid haircut is a distraction raise your hands," she demands.

Everyone but Stan and Kyle raise their hands as high as they can go. We watch in horror as Mrs, Garrison gives in to Cartman's demands and sends Kyle to Mr. Mackey's office for the rest of the day. As he walks out, he looks to Stan who gives him a reassuring look.

We follow him out of the class and down the hall to the counselor's office. He knocks and is immediately admitted to a small, yet comfortably furnished room, where a man with an over inflated head sits with a cup of coffee. He beckons Kyle to sit in the chair across from him, so we sit on the floor between them at an angle where we can see them both at the same time.

"What's the problem, Kyle?" Mr. Mackey asks.

"I don't have a problem," Kyle responds. "Cartman is the one with the problems."

"Mmkay, let's try not to point fingers here, mmkay?" the counselor says.

"But the only reason I'm here is because that fat asshole was bitching about my hair being a distraction to his education. Like he gives a rat's ass about an education."

Mr. Mackey takes a sip of his coffee and studies the young man for a second. We can tell he doesn't like Kyle's Jew-fro any more than Cartman.

"Mmkay, as your counselor, I want you to know you can tell me _anything_, mmkay? I can help you with your problems, mmkay, but we've got to find a starting point. We've got to find a way to get you to be honest with yourself before you can start to be honest with _me_, mmkay."

Kyle sighs, closes his eyes, and pinches his nose with his thumb and index finger. Mr. Mackey notices this right away, picks up a notepad off a table beside his chair, and begins scribbling into it. When he's finished, he looks back up at Kyle again, a slight smirk on his face.

"Tell me, Kyle," he says, "why do you imitate Stan?"

"I…don't."

"Yes, you do, mmkay," Mackey replies. "Tell me: how do you feel about Stan?"

Kyle looks shocked. He's never been asked this question and doesn't quite know how to answer. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens and closes it again.

"I…don't know," he says, flabbergasted. "I can't think of a way to answer."

"Mmkay, I think we've found our starting point."


	3. Sleepless Night

**From Ben: **Sorry if this one's a little short, but I only write until I feel a chapter is done, then I write no more. I let the story come out like it wants to, and when a chapter is over, adding to it to make it longer will only mess it up. Look on the bright side: you got three chapters in one day.

**Chapter Three – Sleepless Night**

Several hours have passed since the last time we saw Kyle. He is now at home, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. He has been unable to sleep tonight for he has been presented with a problem: how does he _really _feel about Stan? Though we know, and we'd like to scream "You love him you fool", we are but unseen observers in this drama, no more than ghosts. So Kyle lays where he is, thinking fondly of Stan and how he wishes he were here now, for surely Stan would know what to do; Stan always knows.

He turns to his bedside table, where his ushanka sits. He finally managed to locate it while we've been away, and you might be surprised to learn that it was actually in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. How it got there, he has no idea, but he's glad in any case that he's finally found it. Now, maybe, he'll be able to sit in class.

We sit here for another hour, watching Kyle toss and turn, unable to get to sleep no matter how hard he tries. Finally, he kicks the blankets off of him, jumps from his bed, and grabs some clothes to change into. We turn our backs as he strips down and dresses himself. When we see him walk over and sit on the bed to put on his shoes, we turn our attention back to him.

After he's dressed (complete with ushanka), he sneaks out of his bedroom with us right behind him. He goes downstairs to the coat closet by the door and grabs his favorite orange vest before heading out the front door. We follow him down the road on a route he apparently knows very well, for even as dark as it is he has no trouble finding his way.

"Stupid Mackey," he hisses to no one at all, "filling my head with doubts. Stan's my best friend! What more can I say about it?"

He arrives at a house not far from his own a few minutes later and walks up the driveway. He digs a rock out of the dirt and chunks it at one of the upstairs windows. When he fails to get a response, he throws another rock, followed by another and another. Finally, a light in the window comes on and Stan's groggy face appears. He looks down at his best friend in what, from this distance, resembles irritation mixed with amusement. A minute passes and the front door opens. We're on Kyle's heels as he hurries up to it.

"What is it, dude?" Stan asks.

"I...couldn't sleep, Stan," Kyle says.

Stan scoffs at this and for a split second it appears like he's going to slam the door, but then he beckons the other boy into the house. They walk up the stairs and into a bedroom laid out a great deal like Kyle's. When the door is shut and safely latched behind them (and us), they turn and look at each other. There is a brief glimpse in Kyle's eyes of the affection we saw earlier, then it is gone, replaced by the worry that has been plaguing him all night.

"Dude, I've been trying to sleep all night," Kyle says, "but...something happened today."

"I know. You got thrown out of class because nobody likes your hair."

"No, after that. See, when I went to Mackey's office, he asked me how I feel about...someone."

"Do I know this someone?" Stan asks with a smile.

"Yeah," Kyle replies, chuckling, "you could say that."

"Well, who is it?"

Kyle turns away from his best friend and crosses his arms. He looks at the floor, thinking hard about how he should handle this situation. Why had he come here in the first place? He couldn't really Stan about what had happened today or why it was bugging him. For one, it would be too awkward and might put a strain on their friendship. Not to mention the fact that if he knew _why _it was bugging him, he'd have an answer to give Mackey and probably wouldn't be having this problem anyway.

"I don't think I can tell you," he says finally.

Stan looks genuinely hurt at this.

"Why not?" he asks in a rather irritated voice. "We're best friends, aren't we? And besides, _you _came and woke _me _up, remember? If we can't trust each other, how can we call ourselves 'best friends'?"

"You're right," Kyle admits, turning back. "Okay, Stan, if you really want to know, he asked me how I really feel about..._you_."

"And?"

"I didn't know what to tell him."

The expression on Stan's face is that of complete shock. Had Kyle just said what he'd heard him say? No, there has to be another explanation for this.

"You didn't tell him we were best friends?"

"I didn't know what to tell him!" Kyle cries. "He just threw it on me."

"And you still don't know the answer," Stan asks, his voice flat and emotionless. This was not a question, but a statement.

"I'm afraid not."

Stan shakes his head and turns away from Kyle. He walks to the window and looks out at the darkness and does not speak for several minutes. Kyle shuffles his feet and looks down at the floor, worried and nervous.

"Stan, I--" he says when he finally gathers his courage, but is cut off abruptly by the hand of his friend being raised sharply into the air.

"Kyle, you wake me up in the middle of the night. You come here to talk to me, then you tell me you can't tell me things. Then you tell me you aren't sure if we're best friends" he says without looking back.

"What?! No! That's not what I--"

"I think you need to leave."

"But--"

"Now!"

He turns and walks briskly across the room, jerks the door open, and gestures for Kyle to make an exit immediately. Kyle looks like he may cry, but he composes himself and storms from the room. We follow him out just as the door slams behind us. As soon as Kyle is sure Stan is not watching, he runs from the house, not bothering to look back. We stop following now out of respect. If he cries at all tonight, we will not be there to watch.


	4. A Long History

**A Note From Ben: **This one is really long and it took me a long time to get it all down, so if you notice something that's a little…off…please let me know and I'll fix it. I try and proofread as much as I can, but sometimes things _do _slip by me.

**Chapter Four – A Long History**

Darkness; all we see as we resume our story is a pitch black void. If we were to hold our hands in front of our faces, we would not see the fingers that we know are there. What is this place we've stepped into? We can tell that someone or something else is here, for we can hear them breathing softly. As we stand here trying to figure out what's going on, there is a soft rapping sound.

"Bubee?" the voice of Kyle's mom calls out.

"Go away," we hear someone say from nearby.

We hear the click of a door being opened and soft light floods the darkness. We can see now that we have been standing in Kyle's room, no more than a foot and a half from his bed, where he currently lays, looking miserable. The darkness was achieved by the young Jew hanging several layers of blankets, sheets, towels, and anything else he could find over the window to block out the sunlight.

"Come on, Kyle," Sheila says, "it's been three days now."

"I don't care."

"Everyone's missed you at school."

"I can think of at least two people who haven't."

Kyle turns onto his side and faces the blocked window, not wanting to see his mother at all. We step back so we can see them both at the same time. Sheila stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a look of worry on her plump face. She wants to do something to help her son, whom she protects obsessively, but obviously can't.

"I bet Stan has forgiven you already," she says optimistically.

"Doubt it."

She shakes her head and walks off, closing the door behind her. The darkness consumes us again.

"I-I'm sorry, Stan," we hear Kyle say.

Not really wanting to dwell in this darkness anymore, we leave Kyle to his solitude and leave the room. We head down the stairs to the kitchen, where Sheila and Gerald are talking frantically to someone via speakerphone.

"We're so worried about him, Sharon!" Sheila wails. "Can't you do something?"

"I can try talking to Stanley," says the person on the other end, "but I can't promise anything. You know how stubborn they can both be."

Gerald begins pacing the kitchen, rubbing his knuckles in worry.

"We've tried everything, Mrs. Marsh," he says, "we've tried talking, negotiating, and threatening him. Hell, we've even tried to order him to get out of bed. He just _won't _move."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Within fifteen minutes, there is a knock on the door and the two worried parents jump up to answer it. We can see the concerned look on Stan's face as he enters the house with his mother. We follow him as he goes upstairs alone and knocks on Kyle's door.

"Go away," a muffled voice says.

"Kyle…" he says, "It's me."

"Stan!" we hear Kyle exclaim. There are hurried footsteps and the door flies open.

Kyle reaches for Stan, but the other boy pulls back, shaking his head. He walks silently into the room (with us right behind him) and closes the door. He then turns back and looks Kyle up and down, disappointment and pity evident in his eyes.

"I'm only here," he says coldly, "because your parents called mine and said you were having a little pity-party."

"Is that a fact? So you're still angry at me for something I didn't do?"

Stan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"It's not like that at all," he says.

"Oh, it is," Kyle replies. "You wouldn't even let me explain myself!"

"I don't have time for this."

Stan moves toward the door, his mind set on going. Kyle, shocked, almost lets him walk out before coming to his senses. He jumps in front of him and blocks the door, a hurt and angry look on his face.

"_Move _Kyle!" Stan shouts.

"Not until you listen!"

Stan gets in his former best friend's face and meets him glare-for-glare. They are staring each other down now, each challenging the other with a look to make the first move. Their hands are balled into fists at their sides and it isn't hard to see that the slightest twitch of an eyelash could start them fighting.

"I'm going to tell you one more time, Kyle: get _out _of my way!" Stan shouts.

"No."

It happens almost faster than we can see it: Stan's fist becomes a blur and a split second later Kyle's nose is busted open. He cries out in pain and reaches up with his green mittens to stop the flow of blood. Stan takes this an opportunity to punch him in the stomach and then push him out of the way.

"I told you to move," he says, almost regretfully, before opening the door and walking out. Kyle lies on the floor for several minutes, whimpering and bleeding, before his parents rush up to his aid. They help him to his feet and then support him as they take him toward the bathroom to clean him up.

* * *

We'll take this opportunity to move to the next day. Kyle is sitting in Mr. Mackey's office again, and we are once more seated on the floor where we can see them both.

"I _hate _him!" Kyle exclaims.

"Mmkay, are you maybe just saying that because he punched you?" Mackey replies.

"No," comes the reply, "it's because he's a pig-headed, egocentric asshole."

"Mmkay, mmkay. I'm starting to see what's going on here."

"Good! Would you _please _tell _me_, because I'm confused as hell."

"First of all, mmkay, I want you to tell me about you and Stan."

Kyle was starting to get pissed. This was the _last _thing he wanted to talk about. On top of that, he had asked for answers, and instead of getting them he was being asked _more _questions! On the other hand, he figures, the more he cooperates with this guy, the sooner this whole unpleasant experience will end.

"Fine," he says, irritated, "what do you want to know?"

"Start at the beginning, mmkay."

So Kyle begins to spill the entire history of the friendship he's had with Stan to a man he doesn't trust in the least…

* * *

_It was Kyle's first day of pre-school and he already wished he could go home. He had been insulted by a fat kid because of his red hair and freckles, and then he had been called a "stupid Jew" by the same fat asshole. He felt hurt and vulnerable and just wanted to go home to his momma, where he would be given kosher cookies and be called "bubee". Nobody would make fun of him there._

_He was sitting in a corner of the pre-school building, covering his head with his hands so no one would see his hair, and crying his eyes out. He didn't notice when the boy with the black hair came up to him, nor did he notice as this kid began to stare at him. He only noticed him when he was tapped on the shoulder._

_"W-what?" he asked defensively, peering around his forearms. "What do you want?"_

_The boy held out his hand and offered him a tissue._

_"It looked like you needed this."_

_"Th-thank you," Kyle said._

_"My name's Stan," he said. "Want to play?"_

_The little Jew nodded shyly and wiped his eyes. He then got up and followed him across the room, where they played together all afternoon. He was having so much fun, he completely forgot to be self-conscious about his hair._

* * *

_Kyle was sick as hell. He couldn't remember ever feeling this bad before. He was pretty sure he was going to die, especially considering that the only person in town who could save his life was Cartman. The fat bastard was certainly taking perverse pleasure in watching him die. He wouldn't even donate a kidney for him unless Kyle forked over ten million dollars._

_Stan had gone to his defense, working his hardest to get Cartman to part with a kidney and ultimately tricking him into giving one. When his friend did that for him, his respect and admiration for him grew exponentially, and his heart swelled with affection.  
_

* * *

_He was trapped in a bubble and it was rapidly filling with water. He knew he was on his own this time. He had treated Stan like shit and had told him flat-out that they weren't best friends anymore. He had thrown away the greatest thing that had ever happened to him so he could stay in Blainetology. Now, as the water level in the bubble got higher and higher, he was seriously regretting this decision._

_Suddenly, as he was about to give up all hope, he heard a voice from somewhere close by screaming that someone had killed Kenny._

_"You bastards!" he cried, hoping he would be heard._

_"Oh, my God! They killed Kenny!" he heard again._

_"YOU BASTARDS!" he screamed as loud as he could._

_"Oh, my God! They killed Kenny!"_

_On and on, they screamed back and forth until Stan finally saw the bubble and Kyle trapped within it. He rushed to his side, not judging him for a moment. He never even held a grudge against him for what he did. Stan's first words to him weren't "I told you so" or any other rub-it-in-your-face phrases; they were the words of a boy who was scared he was going to lose someone very dear to him._

_"Kyle, you _can't _kill yourself!"_

_"I don't _want _to kill myself!" Kyle told him. "They rigged this thing to fill with water!"_

_So, Stan had set to work trying to save him again. It had looked hopeless at first, but with a little divine intervention (from Jesus and the Super Best Friends), Kyle was set free, as were thousands of the other Blainetologists._

_"Thanks, Stan," he told him afterwards, "_you're _my Super Best Friend."_

_"You're my Super Best Friend, too."  
_

* * *

We are still sitting in Mackey's office with Kyle. They've been here over two hours as story after story poured forth from the young boy's mouth; some funny, some sad, and some extremely touching. Eventually, Kyle's throat became sore from talking so much and couldn't go on.

"Mmkay," Mackey says, looking a little moist around the eyes, "I think that's enough for the day. Why don't you take the rest of the day off and reflect on everything you've told me, mmkay."

Kyle nods and gets up and walks out of the room. We stay with him as he leaves the school building and begins walking toward Stark's Pond. We arrive with him at the familiar little body of water within minutes, where he sits on a hollow log. He stays there for a long time, watching the sun set and thinking over his long history with Stan.

"All we've been through," he says, "all we've done. My 'Super Best Friend'…"

As Stan's face hovers in his mind, he feels a wave of great affection wash over him and he realizes that Mackey had been right all along. He _doesn't _hate Stan; he never did.

"How could I hate you?" he says with a warm smile on his face. "You've done so much for me, Stan. I…"

The truth finally hits home and it shows on Kyle's face. His eyes become as wide as saucers and his mouth hangs open. Under better circumstances, this might have actually been comical.

"…I love you," he finishes, absolutely shocked. "Oh, Stan!"

He gets up and runs off into the night.


	5. A Helping Hand

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Wedding Singer_, just like I don't own South Park.

**Chapter Five – A Helping Hand**

It is early the next when we rejoin Kyle. He is heading to Kenny's house, which we have not yet seen, so we are going with him. We go through the familiar residential area of town, then cross the tracks into the most run-down and miserable neighborhood imaginable. The first house to our left is in terrible condition, with an overgrown lawn covered with various rusted car parts and tires.

Kyle turns, walks up to the house, and raps lightly on the door. It opens a moment later and a dumpy looking woman in very dirty clothes stands there.

"Who's there?" a drunken male voice calls before she can say anything.

"It's one of Kenny's little friends, you drunk bastard!" she screams back.

"Don't get smart with me, bitch!" comes the reply.

"Burn in hell, you lazy motherfucker!" she shrieks before looking down warmly at Kyle. "What can I do for ya?"

"Is Kenny here?"

"I think he's up in his room. Come in."

As we follow him into the crumbling shack and through the living room, we catch a glimpse of the owner of the male voice. He is a scruffy looking man with a blonde mustache who wears a hat simply labeled "Scotch". He slouches lazily in a ratty old armchair and glares at us as we go by. He is obviously very drunk.

The interior of the house is just as miserable as the outside. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls, with is riddled with holes that look like they were made with someone's fists. Rats scurry about the place, as do cockroaches and other vermin. We can tell that Kyle is trying very hard to be polite, but the place is completely revolting and smells of garbage and rotten eggs.

Kyle sees a door at the far end of what we can assume is supposed to be a dining room and hurries toward it, with us in hot pursuit. As we near it, we hear the woman and her husband yelling violently at each other. Vulgar phrases like "no good alcoholic cocksucker" and "crazy nagging leg-licking bitch" fill our ears.

"Jesus!" he swears under his breath as he knocks on the door. It opens and we see Kenny standing there with the hood of his parka removed. Without his face covered, this boy is actually rather good looking, with blonde hair and warm, friendly eyes.

"Hey, Kyle," he says, smiling.

"Hey, Kenny," Kyle replies, "got a minute?"

"Sure," he says, beckoning his friend in and closing the door behind him.

Kenny's room consists of very little but a foul-looking bed and some dirty clothes scattered on the floor. There are just as many holes in the walls here, and an unsettling number of rats.

"What's up?" he says when they're both seated side-by-side on the bed.

"Look, Kenny," Kyle begins hesitantly, "I came to you because I know you're the one person I can trust. Stan isn't talking to me right now, and I don't trust Cartman enough to tell him what I had for dinner last night."

"I take it Stan not talking to you is the problem?" the blonde boy asks.

"Y-yeah," the other says, "but there's a little more to it than that. See, Stan thinks that when I couldn't tell Mackey how I really felt about the two of us, I meant that I wasn't sure if we're best friends. But that's not it at all, Kenny! I…"

He stops suddenly and seems quite interested in his own feet dangling off the edge of the bed. Kenny puts a friendly arm around his shoulders and smiles at him.

"Come on, dude," he says, "it's okay."

"No, it isn't!" Kyle cries, jumping from the bed and turning to face his friend. "Don't you see, Kenny? I couldn't say how I feel about Stan because I…because I love him, not because I don't want to be friends anymore!"

Kenny doesn't say anything right away. His face registers absolute shock. Had Kyle just come out? It had sure sounded that way to him, and he knew more about sex than all three of his friends combined.

"My God, dude," Kenny says finally, "are you telling me that you're…gay and that you have a thing for Stan?"

Kyle suddenly looks desperate. He crosses the room and puts his hands firmly on Kenny's shoulders. Kenny is alarmed by this, as if he thinks the Jewish boy is going to kiss him.

"Listen to me," he say, "I don't have a _thing _for Stan. I _love _Stan!"

He takes his hands from Kenny's shoulders when the other boy gulps and nods.

"Okay, Kyle," he says, hopping from the bed, "you came to me for help, so I'm going to give it to you. Feel like having a sleepover tonight?"

* * *

It is later that evening and Kyle has taken Kenny (and us) back to his house. They are holed up in his bedroom, eating Cheesy Poofs and talking. They have a DVD of _The Wedding Singer_ playing on Kyle's computer to muffle their conversation. 

"Okay, so the plan so far is for me to talk to Stan first to get him to at least listen to you, and then let you take over. Then what?"

"I don't know," the other replies, holding his head, "I don't _know_! I've tried talking to him before, even after people talked to him for me, and all I got out of it was a busted nose."

Kenny shakes his head.

"You came on too strong. People are stupid when they're angry, dude, and you telling him he couldn't leave _unless _he talked things over was definitely a bad idea."

Kyle glances over toward the door. We follow his gaze and see immediately what he's looking at; flecks of dried blood still mark the carpet where the incident occurred, a vulgar reminder of a bad situation made worse. The voice of Adam Sandler suddenly declaring that since he has the microphone, the angry old man will listen to every word he has to say brings our attention (and that of the boys) back to the computer screen. They watch as Sandler makes an ass of himself and eventually gets his ass beaten.

"See?" Kenny says, smirking a bit. "It didn't work for him, either."

Kyle rolls his eyes and throws a handful of Cheesy Poofs at his friend, who laughs and tackles him playfully.

An hour or so later, the movie is nearing its climax, though neither of them notice. They have had way too much fun for their own good, and they are both yawning and looking longing at the bed.

"I'm burnt out, Kyle," Kenny says in a drowsy voice. "What do you say we call it a night?"

"You go ahead, Kenny," Kyle replies. "I'd sure like to sleep, but I can't do it until I figure out what I'm gonna do about Stan."

"Suit yourself, dude. We've got all the rest of the weekend to figure this out, though."

Kyle shakes his head and turns his gaze toward the computer screen. Kenny climbs under the covers and is asleep within minutes, as is evidenced by his soft snores. Still, the troubled young Jew sits alone, staring vacantly at the computer long after the movie ends and starts over.

"Please God," he prays as the sun begins to rise, "Send me some kind of sign. Show me the way. Please."

He begins to rub his tired eyes, wondering what caused him to suddenly start praying, and then stops. A smile spreads across his face as the answer to his problem becomes obvious. It's there, on his computer screen, as it has been several times tonight.

"Thanks, God," he says.


	6. Tears, Hugs, Kisses

**Note From Ben: This chapter is very special to me. I actually had to stop and wipe my eyes in the middle of writing it. I've had it in my head pretty much since the beginning, and here it is at last. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks to everyone who ever reviewed this story. See you next time!**

**Six – Tears, Hugs, and Kisses**

"Are you sure you want to do this, dude?" Kenny says the next afternoon.

We are standing with Kyle and Kenny on the street in front of Stan's house, and the two boys are going over the plan for the thousandth time.

"Yeah, dude," Kyle says, smiling, "this will work. I went over it myself a dozen times last night."

"Well, if you're sure," the other says with a shrug.

Kenny goes to the front door and we are right behind him. He knocks firmly and stands back, rocking on his heels. After what seems like an eternity, it is opened by none other than Stan himself. He looks behind us, and then looks back at Kenny.

"I thought I saw Kyle here when you walked up," he says in a sour tone.

"No," Kenny says, "he's doing something else at the moment. Mind if we talk for a bit?"

Stan scowls, but admits his friend into the house. He gives the front yard one last dirty look before slamming the door. He turns back to Kenny and crosses his arms.

"Well? What do you want?"

"Come on, Stan," Kenny says. "Your fight isn't with me and you know it."

"You're right," Stan replies with a sigh, hanging his head. "I'm sorry."

"Think nothing of it," comes the reply, "Care if we talk in your room where it's more private?"

We follow them up the stairs to Stan's room. Kenny sits on the bed and Stan settles into the computer chair not far away. They regard each other for a minute before Kenny breaks out into a broad smile.

"What?" Stan asks.

Kenny points at the desk. Resting beside the monitor is a framed picture of Stan and Kyle, arms over each other's shoulders and big grins on their faces. The silver frame has a small heart-shaped sticker attached to it.

"Oh, that," comes a snorted reply. Stan grabs the picture and places it face-down on the desk.

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?"

"Excuse me? _I'm _not the one with the problem."

Kenny laughs, walks across the room, and grabs the photograph. He holds it up for Stan to see, but the other boy crosses his arms stubbornly and looks away.

"See how happy you both were? See that stupid fucking sticker? Think you're fooling anybody with this act?"

"What act?" Stan asks defensively. "That sticker is only there because it came free in a bag of Snacky S'mores and I had to do _something _with it. The picture's only here because…"

He suddenly stops. Kenny raises a quizzical eyebrow and motions for him to go on; he doesn't. He just keeps staring at the picture.

"What's the matter, Stan?"

"I…don't know," he says finally. "I don't know why I kept it."

"Just like Kyle didn't know what to say when Mackey asked him that stupid ass question?"

We see something click in Stan's face. The truth has finally dawned on him that he has been wrong to treat Kyle this way.

"I…"

"You're in love with Kyle, then?" Kenny says, pointing toward the sticker.

Stan is taken aback. He shakes his head violently, then jumps from his chair and moves quickly across the room, his eyes wide and frightened.

"No, Kenny…that's not true…the sticker…I told you I just needed a place to put it."

"Ever heard of a trash can?" the other replies with a slight chuckle.

"It's not funny, Kenny!" Stan cries, turning back, his eyes still showing his fear.

"It _is _funny, dude, because as bad as you've treated him, Kyle still loves you, too."

"He does not!" Stan moans with tears in his eyes. His lower lip is quivering and we can tell he's about to lose it. "He hasn't even looked at me in over a week!"

Kenny sighs and goes to the window. He makes a twirling motion with his hand, and then turns back to his friend, who now has tears rolling freely down his face.

"D-doesn't love me…", he says, "M-m-messed it up so b-bad….never forgive me…"

A new sound fills our ears and it seems to be coming from somewhere outside. Kenny walks over, puts his arm around Stan, and walks him to the window.

"He _does _love you, Stan," he says, "_Look!_"

We join them at the window, and sure enough, Kyle is on the lawn strumming a guitar. Stan throws it open and cries out his best friend's name.

"Hi, Stan," Kyle calls up while still strumming. "I saw this in a movie last night and…well, it says what I didn't know how to say."

So Kyle begins singing, and as he does, a look of pure adoration forms on Stan's face. His tears keep falling; however, we can safely assume that they are now happy tears.

**I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad,  
Carry you around when your arthritis is bad.  
All I wanna do is grow old with you.**

**I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches,  
Build you a fire if the furnace breaks.  
Oh it could be so nice, growing old with you**

**I'll miss you,  
kiss you,  
Give you my coat when you are cold.**

**I'll need you,  
feed you,  
Even let you hold the remote control.**

**So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink.  
Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink.  
I could be the man who grows old with you.**

**I wanna grow old with you.**

"I love you, Stan!" he shouts up.

Stan tears away from the window (with us right behind him), then through the house, and finally out the front door. He throws himself into Kyle's arms and tells him over and over that he's so, so, so very sorry and that he loves him, too. There are a lot of tears, a lot of hugs, and more kisses than Kenny, who is watching above, can ever hope to count.

And so our narrative comes to an end. We leave them there on the lawn, loving each other madly. We begin a slow ascent back into the sky we came from. The scene becomes smaller and smaller the higher we go, until the whole town is laid out before us once more. As we drift away, however, listen closely. You can almost hear those words once more….

_**So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink.  
Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink.  
I could be the man who grows old with you.**_

_**I wanna grow old with you….**_

**Fin**


End file.
